You Have to Want It
by InTheArmsofaTheif
Summary: "Do you. Want. The Bite?" Peter repeated, as if he were talking to a child, "Yes or no?" "I don't want to be like you," Stiles said with conviction, but Peter could hear past the words. "I wasn't really asking"
1. The Bite

"Do you. Want. The Bite?" Peter repeated, as if he were talking to a child, but his tone quickly turned around to seductive. Not sexually, but enticing in the power he could give Stiles, tempting the boy with words of glory, all the things Scott was had gotten but Stiles missed out on due to a simple chance of fate in the woods. "Yes or no?" he asked, his lips, his teeth, already only inches from where he gripped Stiles's wrist. Just as Peter began to length his canines, Stiles pulled away, and Peter let him.

"I don't want to be like you," he said with conviction, but Peter could hear past the words.

"You know what I heard just then?" Peter asked, calmly, casually, his face and words turning harsher with the answer. "Your heart beating slightly faster over the words I don't want." The kid may believe he was telling the truth, but Stiles was only lying to himself, and Peter knew it. Here, the alpha smirked, a predatory gaze fixed on the boy's body. "So, fortunately for you, I wasn't really asking."

Quicker than Stiles could counter, Peter snatched his arm up again and bit into the soft flesh and tender muscle of the boy's forearm, right under his elbow. Stiles yelled out in pain. Peter dropped the arm and wiped the blood away from his mouth, satisfaction evident in his glowing red eyes. With one last smirk, Peter got into his car and drove away.

Stiles gripped his bleeding wound, putting pressure to the bite that was sure to turn him. A few tears slid down his face before he even realized he was crying. The taste of salt from a tear rolling onto his tongue shocked Stiles back into reality. Derek was captured and Peter was going after him. Lydia was hopefully in the hospital. Scott would be there. He should be there. Stiles should be there.

He took off running.

X

Outside of Lydia's hospital room, the Sheriff laid into him for all of two seconds before noticing the bite on Stiles's arm.

"It's fine," he insisted. "No, dad it's fine. I'm fine, it's already healing over." It wasn't, but Scott's had taken a few hours. He wasn't worried.

"What the hell happened, Stiles?" his dad demanded. But Stiles couldn't, not now. Not when he just found out Scott isn't at the hospital.

"I promise, dad. I promise, I will tell you everything." His voice was admittedly shaky. Tears threatened the corner of his eyes again and the look of his son stilled the Sheriff in his yelling. "I will tell you everything that you don't even know what's going on, but not now. Tomorrow, I promise."

The sheriff pulled his son into a tight hug, rubbing his back in small circles just like he had when Stiles was a kid waking up from nightmares, or later when he had panic attacks at the dining room table or in the back yard. "Okay," he whispered soothingly. "Okay, I won't make you say anything tonight. But you have to promise me, okay Stiles? Promise me you'll tell me everything."

Stiles nodded into his father's chest. He clung to his dad, apologizing under his breath for the blood that stained his dad's uniform. After a few moments to calm himself, Stiles managed to get his brain back on track and pulled the latest bit of information from his dad. It was arson. A woman, probably now in her late twenties, with a distinct pendant, had done it. Like Allison's, Stiles added quietly in his head. His dad left to take a phone call, telling Stiles to stay put, but he couldn't. He needed to find Scott.

Unfortunately, Stiles with a Jackson swayed by a guilty conscience following, ran into Chris Argent. He asked about Scott's whereabouts, but quickly noted the bloody wound on Stiles's arm. He and his goons pulled the two teens into a nearby exam room. "You're going to turn, kid." Chris said.

"Yeah, I think I figured that much out myself," Stiles replied, clenching his jaw. "I didn't want it. He bit me anyway. Gonna kill me?"

"We don't kill kids," Chris said. Stiles laughed dryly. "We only kill killers. Like the alpha. Like what Scott is turning into. You can't tell me Scott didn't try to kill you on the full moon. Did you have to lock him up!?"

"Yeah, yeah he did," Stiles snarked. He could see Jackson blanching out of the corner of his eye. "I had to handcuff him to a radiator, so what? That's manageable. This," Stiles said, bringing his forearm up to his face, "This ismanageable. Would you prefer I had locked him in the basement and burn the whole house down around him. Should I throw myself into a fire?"

Stiles could see Jackson put the pieces together about the Hale fire being caused by hunters, despite Chris's claim to otherwise. For the first time he seemed downright terrified, although Stiles doubted it was for anyone other than himself. Stiles felt no qualms about Jackson's fear. He wasn't the one who would become a target once the ripped flesh on his arm healed. Instead, he told Chris Argent all about his sister.

X

The Argents let Stiles and Jackson go with a quick warning to Stiles. "Now what?" Jackson asked. "Now," Stiles said, twirling the porsche's keys in his hand, "we arm ourselves." Stiles drove them first to the high school, knowing exactly how to break in this time around. Security hadn't really gotten better since last time he came here. They went straight to the chemistry room and Stiles began mixing up two Molotov Cocktails. He had memorized the recipe along with a few other easy, household item type bombs. Jackson nervously triple checked all the ingredients Stiles asked for.

They hurriedly left the school and raced through the preserves to the private property containing one shell of a house. When they got there, the alpha, Peter, was outside, feral looking. Stiles could understand why groups of people dedicated themselves to ridding the world of things like that. Too bad the line was too easy to blur, for them to start attacking Scotts. And pack members who were human. Stiles felt a pang of sympathy for Derek, but didn't have time to dwell on all the misfortunes the man had experienced. Peter was about to attack Scott and Stiles blasted the car horn to get their attention. With Peter's eyes on him, it was time to execute a modicum of revenge.

Stiles's right arm was throbbing. He couldn't find the strength in it, so he tossed the beaker with his left. Despite it not being his dominate arm, he still managed to reach his target. Peter, however caught damn thing. "Ooooh, damn," Stiles muttered to himself. Peter snarled at him and Stiles took a step backwards, his heart rocketing in his chest.

While Stiles was good at putting puzzles together, Scott was a quick thinker on the field. It made him good at team sports more so than the wolf powers. He yelled Allison's name and tossed her the bow. Then, as the alpha got ready to throw the cocktail at the archer, she fired an arrow, breaking the glass and setting Peter to flames. Stiles turned to Jackson just in time to see the normally full of himself jock find his courage and throw the second beaker of liquid fire. Scott knocked Peter back when he still tried to attack Allison, and they all watched on as Peter stumbled back and collapsed, the flames fading, almost absorbing into the skin.

Stiles felt dizzy. His arm hurt, more than it had earlier. More than it had when Peter had sunk his teeth into him. He pulled his hand away from where he had gripped it, as if he could squeeze the pain away, and it came back covered black. That wasn't blood. His wound was oozing black like a supernatural infection. "Scott," he said, fear clearly lacing his voice. He looked up and spotted Derek coming out of the decrepit house. "Derek." Stiles said the name like a plea.

Suddenly Stiles found himself crashing to the ground, his strength giving out on him. Was this what was happening to Lydia? Like an allergic reaction? Stiles convulsed a little on the ground, distantly hearing the shouts of his name, rushed footsteps coming to his side. Peter did say there was a chance the bite could kill him. Was he dying?

"What's happening?" Scott asked, panicked, but when Stiles opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) he was looking into the frantic blue gaze of Derek.

It was Chris who answered. "His body's rejecting the bite. He's not going to make it."

"I don't want to die," Stiles heard Jackson whisper.

Sounds were coming in and out like someone was playing with the volume or messing with the radio dial, fixating on different people. "I have to take care of Peter," Derek said firmly, leaving the space of Stiles's sight. Stiles could hear the labored breaths of the burnt husk of a man. They matched his own shallow breaths.

"Wait!" Scott called, scrambling to stop Derek but not wanting to leave his friend's side. "You said the cure comes from the one who bit you."

"If it's even true, it wouldn't save Stiles if he killed Peter," Derek said quietly, gently almost. Stiles had to strain to hear the words, but it sounded as if Derek was trying his hardest to get a point across. "And if you kill Peter either you revert back to being human, and Stiles dies, or you become the alpha, and Stiles dies."

"Alpha?" Scott whispered, not having realized the reward for killing Peter was something he wanted even less than what he already had. Derek nodded. "But?" Because there was more. They could all here there was more.

"If I'm the one to kill Peter and I become the alpha, there's a chance I can save your friend."

Scott sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes darted between Peter and Stiles, then to Allison, who was being pulled away by her father, and then back to Stiles where the black goo was bleeding from his nose and overflowing from his mouth. Scott thought of killing Peter, of slicing his claws through him and stopping his heart and he knew he couldn't do it. Not in reality. Even if the choice wasn't blaringly obvious with Stiles's life on the line.

"Save him," Scott begged.

Derek closed his eyes and pretended Peter was a nameless face that killed his sister. His nails shifted into claws, and just as Peter growled out some intelligible words, Derek sliced his throat open. He let the new power surge over him. He didn't even bother trying to reign in the roar that seemed to be pulled straight from his core and through his teeth. When he turned to Scott, he knew his eyes grew red. Still grappling with the new power, Derek raced over to Stiles.

He was shaking now, his eyes snapping in and out of focus as he tried reassuring Scott "It's okay. We saved the day right?" He tried smiling but coughed up more black, much like the time Derek had with a bullet in his arm and no one but Stiles to help him. He owed this kid. "Hey, let my dad know what really happened," he murmured.

"You're not going to die!" Scott yelled. "Right, Derek? He's not going to die."

"I hope not," he replied earnestly. Derek ripped away the sleeve around Stiles's wound. "I need a vital point closer to the heart," he told them, ripping at the boy's collar.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, laughing almost as if it tickled. Derek locked eyes with him while Stiles was still able to focus.

"There are a couple reasons why someone rejects the bite," he told Stiles, needing to get this clear into his head. "Most common is that the person is too physically weak and not enough of a fighter. But you're not, Stiles. Okay? You're a fighter."

"I'm Batman," he mumbled.

Derek's lip quirked involuntarily. "Yeah, you're Batman. You're strong. But you might be rejecting the bite because you're rejecting Peter. Because you didn't want it."

"He thought I was lying," Stiles whined. His eyes were going distant again and Derek carefully tapped his cheek to keep him alert. Derek delicately held Stiles's head, facing him to look at Derek.

"I need you to do me a favor," Derek said, growing desperate. Stiles nodded slightly and Derek let out a breath. "I need you to want it. I'm going to bite you, and since I took Peter's power and we're of the same blood, the new bite will start trying to transform you again, over Peter's. But it will only work if you want it."

"Want it?"

Derek breathed through the tension in the air, the fear reeking off of Scott, the horror and shame falling from Jackson, the death and burning decay from Peter, and focused in on Stiles. "You have to want me to give you the bite. Okay?" There was a beat of silence. Stiles heart beat was slowing and Scott's pacing picked up. "Stiles? Okay?"

"Okay."

He didn't hesitate. Derek shifted, the power coursing through him too raw, too much to handle, and perhaps just enough to save Stiles.

Stiles screamed in his ear as he bit into the junction between his neck and shoulder.


	2. The Change

The first time Stiles wakes up, he can't even open his eyes. There are voices, but he's just so tired. He doesn't try to make them out. They're just sounds: soft footsteps on linoleum, machines beeping, the steady buzz of florescent lights. Someone shifts their position in a chair with plastic cushions that squeak with the movement. Stiles falls back to sleep.

The second time Stiles wakes up, his eyes drift open without thinking and he blinks at the glaring lights. Voices are speaking in low tones on the other side of the room and from where Stiles is propped up in his bed, he catches the blurry figures of people in white and blue talking to someone in another bed with a mass of red hair. The sound of his heart monitor rushes him and it seems to be right in his ear and Stiles groans. The voices stop and feet rush over, asking questions, giving instructions, but Stiles can't really understand any of it. It's all too loud and everythinghurts. Stiles doesn't notice he's crying or gasping out in pain, but suddenly that groggy feeling rushes over him as they pump him with a sedative.

The third time Stiles wakes up, the lights are off and his mind is clear. And he could hear everything. It was odd. Unlike before when things were blasting in his ear, the machines he was hooked up to were normal volume, and the ones beeping across the room were quieter due to distance, but he could make it out, along with the girl's unconscious breathing. He could hear the muttering of people in the hallway and the slosh of someone mopping. It trailed away like hearing does, but he could hear so much further. Stiles's breath hitched, remembering. He wasn't sure if he was thankful to be alive or fearful of being turned.

He noticed a shift in the other person breathing and rustling of sheets. Stiles blinked a few times and his eyes adjusted to the dark, quicker than they would have before. It was as if the lights were only dimmed. The person in the bed across from him was sitting up and Stiles could easily make out Lydia's features.

"Stiles?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

Lydia began crying. "You're awake." She sounded so relieved and his heart swelled. It was already enough to be thankful. He was alive.

"Yeah," he croaked. It was difficult to talk. All of his muscles were sore and he felt utterly drained. He watched Lydia delicately push herself out of bed and walk over to his side, guiding her IV drip beside her.

Lydia sat on Stiles's bed, placing a hand over his. "I'm sorry I left you at the dance," she told him.

"Sorry I couldn't save you," he replied. Lydia squeezed his hand and Stiles smiled benignly. "How are you feeling?"

Lydia placed her other hand over her side and held in a wince. "Better. I'm not healed, but the wound is closed." Stiles tried to figure out what that meant. She had been bitten by Peter but was healing like a human. She was alive. Stiles almost died. "Do you know what attacked us?" she asked. Stiles could hear the desperation in her voice, in the way her pulse picked up, in the hazy vanilla scent she carried that went spicy and bitter with something akin to chili powder and tea.

"Who's been here to see you so far?"

Lydia let out a shaky breath. She could hear all the questions he didn't ask. "It's been four days since the formal," she told him. "I woke up yesterday. My parents came to see me, of course. Your dad's been here more than a few times, watching over you when he could. Mrs. McCall, too. No one besides family has been allowed in, but I'm sure Scott's been outside a couple times."

"And no one's told you anything?" he asked.

"No one's told me anything," she responded.

Stiles turned his hand over so he could hold onto Lydia's. "The body in the woods, two months ago," he began, "was Laura Hale. She was killed by Peter Hale, her uncle. Peter attacked you that night. He's dead now."

He squeezed her hand tighter when he felt her heart spike. "But I have teeth and claw marks on my side," she whispered. "And Allison's aunt was accused of all the murders and the Hale fire…" she trailed off, knowing she was missing something. There was a connection, she just couldn't see it.

"Kate killed all of Derek's family," Stiles said, his breath becoming labored. "Because Kate was a hunter, and she's crazy. She killed kids and people who never hurt anyone. Which is why Peter killed her." He wasn't sure how he knew that. He had a distant memory of someone talking to him in his dreams. Someone telling him stories of that night, telling him everything was okay now. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. "Two months ago, when Laura's body was found, Scott and I were in the woods, and he got bit. By Peter. Who's a werewolf."

The silence between them was heavy. Lydia squeezed her eyes tight, collecting herself as best she could. "You're not lying to me, are you," she stated.

Stiles shook his head. "You deserve to know."

"Am I-?" her voice cut off, unable to ask the question.

"I don't know," he told her truthfully. "I don't know."

X

In the morning, Stiles got moved to his own room to recover. Two days later he was released. When his dad first came to see him after waking up, Stiles picked up on his heartbeat and scent before he even entered the room. Stiles was still weak, although his senses seemed to have kicked into overdrive. He was sure he turned, but he wasn't quite right. He noted the dark bags under his dad's eyes and utter relief on his face. "Sorry I broke my promise," Stiles said.

The Sheriff pulled Stiles into a careful hug. Stiles held in his tears as he breathed in the scent of his father. It was warm and crisp like apple butter on toast. It smelled like family and comfort and love and Stiles nearly melted into it. "Derek told me," he said. Stiles was shocked by this but his dad explained it all. "He walked into the hospital while I was still here, carrying my son who had a new injury. After you got sent to the ICU, of course I ripped him a new one. It wasn't until I mentioned you saying something about telling me everything everything-"

"Why do I think it was something more than a mention?"

"-that Hale pulled me and Melissa aside and laid out the whole truth. He directed me to his old house where Kate was with the pendent."

Stiles pulled back from his father. "And- and you're okay with…?"

His dad placed his hands on either side of Stiles's face and looked him square in the eye. "You're my son. Just add this to the bucket of shit I deal with you, okay?" he said with a half-smile. The Sheriff swallowed thickly, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. "I love you, kid."

It turns out, after Derek told the Sheriff what had really happened, Scott by his side as witness, Mr. Stilinski paid a visit to the Argent household."You don't go after my son," he had told them, "in fact, you don't go after anyone. That's not your job, but mine. If you stay in this town and anything supernatural happens, maybe we'll work together because you have expertise I don't. But you don't kill anybody. You hear me?"

The Argents agreed. This was now the Sheriff's domain. They supplied him with wolfsbane bullets and with information on how to keep Stiles safe. They wanted to keep an eye on Derek, make sure he didn't go off the deep end, so they'd be staying, at least for now.

"I feel better knowing what it is I need to look out for," he told Stiles.

"I didn't want anyone to go after you because of me."

"Sorry kid," he said, kissing the top of Stiles's head. His hair had begun to grow out already. It didn't take long to get long. "I'm the dad. I take care of you."

Stiles was let out when determined fit by Melissa. They signed some forms and he went home. Melissa was the only one who knew the marks on his body had completely disappeared. Lydia, he was told, unable to see her, still needed another few days of observation. When he got home, Derek and Scott were waiting for him.

Scott quickly enveloped him in a hug. It was tight and strong and it didn't bruise, but Stiles was still lacking the energy to hug back with his full amount of gusto. Derek stared on like a deer caught in headlights, like he couldn't believe Stiles was real, that Stiles was alive. When Scott let Stiles go, Stiles stumbled over to the alpha, his alpha, and wrapped his arms around him. It was loose and soft and Derek tentatively paced his arms around Stiles's shoulders. It was nothing like hugging Scott, but it was just as powerful. "Thank you," he whispered before pulling away and collapsing into the nearest chair.

"We need to talk about pack," Derek said after clearing his throat.

Stiles nodded, expecting as much, and asked his dad for something to eat. "Sure, kiddo, but I'm still a part of this conversation." Stiles gave a weak smile and nodded. The Sheriff kept the kitchen open to the living room so he could hear everything as he fixed them all sandwiches.

Derek shifted uncomfortably and sat down across from Stiles. "Your body's still fighting off Peter's bite," he said ruefully. Stiles shrugged, figuring as much. He could move easily, weighted down and tired, always so tired. "But you're still a beta. I can smell it." Scott nodded in agreement and came to sit next to Stiles. "I've talked it over with Scott," the aforementioned huffed disapprovingly of the term 'talked', but Derek ignored him, "and we need to discuss me being your alpha."

"Yes," Stiles said. It was firm, not a yes we need to discuss, but yes, you'll be my alpha.

"Just like that?" Scott balked.

Stiles turned to his best friend and gave a look clearly saying 'are you stupid'. "He saved my life, Scott. I trust him. We know he's not the best teacher but he's the only one who knows about this stuff so yeah, I'm in his pack."

Scott looked down like a kid caught lying to his parents for the first time, ashamed almost. The Sheriff's voice cut in from the kitchen, although none of the people in the living room needed him to speak up. "So what does being pack mean, exactly?"

Derek tried to explain. Every time he opened his mouth it felt like ashes and his tongue cotton balls. "Pack means it's my job to protect them," he said finally, looking the Sheriff dead in the eye from where he was entering with a plate of sandwiches. "We help each other."

"Pack is family," Stiles stated simply, his voice barely above a whisper.

Derek looked over, catching Stiles's eye and swallowed dryly. "Yeah, that's it exactly." Derek could feel the way his poker face fell, his eyes an open wound, open and vulnerable. He couldn't seem to help it. Derek cleared his throat and looked away.

It should have been shameful for Derek to look away, to back down as if he were submitting to Stiles, but he couldn't help it. The kid's eyes were just too deep to stare at. Derek took a sandwich when offered with a muttered thanks, shifting in his seat. When he had told the Sheriff everything, well, almost everything, things changed between them. After holstering the gun he pulled upon first seeing Derek transform, it was as if the Sheriff lost all previous judgment and suspicion. It was like Derek was the 16 year old kid being pulled out of class that Deputy Stilinski had to tell the tragic news and watch as Derek refused to cry in front of a stranger. The Sheriff was treating him like an old friend, or maybe a lost child who needs a guiding hand.

"I need a third," he announced, his eyes fixed on the sandwich sitting on the coffee table before him. "A pack needs at least three betas to be stable."

There was a silence, only broken by the slow chew of someone trying not to make noise while they ate. Eventually Stiles spoke up. "Who?"

"There's," Derek started, not sure of himself, "there's an omega in town I caught wind of. If I can pin him down and talk to him then, maybe…" he ran a tired hand over his face. He needed to shave, Derek thought idly. Derek couldn't explain why, but he was just so tired since becoming an alpha. He wondered if it was Stiles, Derek's energy still trying to battle out Peter's in the boy's body. Or maybe it was just the drama of the last two months catching up to him. He didn't know.

"That grave robbing I was called to this morning?" the Sheriff asked incredulously. He watched on as Derek sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "That was a werewolf. Of course it was. Why am I even asking? How am I supposed to write that off," he grumbled.

"What happened?" Stiles asked, perking up a bit.

"Stole someone's god damn kidney!"

"He did?" both Derek and Stiles asked. "Gross," Scott commented, putting his sandwich down. Derek heaved a sigh. "I can't take him then. I won't."

"Why not?" Scott asked.

Derek glanced to the Sheriff quickly, who was eying him. "He ate the kidney." Scott made a gagging sound. "He's doing his best to not kill, but he's turning feral. An actual risk to being an omega," he directed to Scott. "Joining me," he continued, "could help him, but he can't be a part of the cornerstone that stabilizes us."

Stiles side-eyed Scott, who had been perpetually checking the time on his phone. Everyone seemed tired and done with this conversation for now. Continuing talking wouldn't get them anywhere. Besides, he was so exhausted. You'd think Stiles hadn't just spent the last week sleeping in a hospital. Stiles looked over at Derek who was boring a hole in the food he wasn't eating.

"Okay, well, good chat. I'm going to sleep," Stiles announced. He struggled to stand but made it without too much effort. "You," he said pointing to Scott, "go have your tryst. You're barely paying attention anyway." Derek growled a little under his breath at the half mention of Allison. "You," Stiles continued, pointing to his alpha, "calm down and let Scott make his own mistakes. You can protect him later. Right now he's still on the fence about even liking you." Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could take in so much more. Derek's scent shifted, and he wasn't sure how. There was something more than annoyance. "And you," Stiles said, pointing to his father. The Sheriff raised one eyebrow daringly and crossed his arms. "Thank you for the food," Stiles concluded. "Now get me to bed."

Scott gave Stiles a quick hug before dashing out to sneak an hour or two with his star-crossed lover. Derek hung back though, just watching.

The Sheriff gave a look to Derek which clearly read 'stay put we have more to discuss' before turning to his son. "Stiles, I lied to you earlier." Stiles scrunched his brow and opened his mouth to ask but his dad beat him to the punch. "Lydia's not at the hospital."

"What?" he asked confused.

"Last night, after you had gone to sleep, she was getting cleaned up and was going to be released, when she apparently…" he trailed off.

"WHAT?" he shrieked, panicking.

"She apparently climbed out her window and is roaming around the woods. I already asked Derek to try to find her, he said her scent tapered off in the woods. We don't know what happened to her."

Stiles heart rate picked up, his mind racing with all the possibilities. "Is this because of the bite? What did it do to her?"

He could feel the panic building, grasping him from the inside the way his boa would squeeze the life out of the rats he fed it. Suddenly, Derek was in front of him, one hand cupping his neck and the other having taken one of Stiles's hands and placing it over Derek's own heart. His eyes were alpha red and his scent was overpowering due to the sudden proximity. It was calming. Stiles tuned into the rhythm of Derek's heart and focused in on the smell of Derek which he couldn't seem to pinpoint. It was heady and rich and spicy like chai maybe. But it was strong and brought him down from the sheer panic of what was happening to Lydia.

When he calmed down enough that Derek took away his hands, Stiles caught the sound of his father's heart beating double time. He looked over to see the Sheriff staring wide eyed, mouth agape. "Dad?"

The man shook his head and blinked a few times. "You, uh," he waved his hand over his face a few times, shock still reading from his eyes. He gulped and let out a deep breath and gave Stiles a smile. "Guess there's no more deluding myself," he told them.

Stiles felt guilty about scaring his dad and slightly disappointed he hadn't even known he shifted. But, more than either of those, he felt sick. "Dad?" he said again, a little more empty. He only didn't hit the ground because Derek caught him when he fainted.


	3. The Pack

Derek carried Stiles to his bed and set him down over the covers. "Is he okay?" his father asked gravely from the door. It wasn't the first time he asked, but he sounded calmer now, his heart the steady thrum of a worried parent.

"His body is fighting itself," he told the Sheriff. "My bite is trying to keep him alive while Peter's is still trying to kill him. I can't really tell you anything more. Nothing about this situation is normal." Derek pressed his palm into his sternum and grimaced. When Stiles fainted, Derek could feel a pull of his energy going out to the boy. He had turned, or was turning, but it was taking everything the both of them had to get rid of the infection. "I wasn't even sure biting him again would work."

"Come on," the Sheriff said, gesturing away from the bedroom. Derek followed him back to the living room and took a seat at the man's request. "This pack thing," the man started, "I want updates. And know that you may be the alpha, but Stiles is still my son. Anything concerning him, concerns me, okay." It wasn't a question. The man gave a more intimidating glare than when he had interrogated Derek after Laura's murder. The Sheriff gave Derek an appraising look and loosened his stance. "Look, kid-,"

"I'm not a kid," Derek interjected. He could feel the scowl on his face deepen and hoped he wasn't pulling some face that made him look like a whiny brat.

"No," he conceded, "you're not. You're a twenty-two year old who should be finishing up college this term instead of looking after petulant teens. You're an adult by all legal standards, but I can see it when you look at my son." Derek quirked his head up, confused. "You saved his life, and for that I will always be thankful, but Jesus, kid," he glared down the forthcoming protest, "you stopped growing up after that fire."

Derek looked at the Sheriff in shock for a moment before his lip curled back in a sub vocal snarl. No one said things like that to Derek. In fact, the only people to ever bring up the fire to his face were hunters. Even Laura left the subject alone after the first few tries.

"I can't say I know how hard you've had it," the Sheriff continued unperturbed, "but losing someone you love changes you. And that fire changed you into the man I arrested, despite being innocent. But when you look at my son I see the kid that never got a chance to grow up behind your eyes."

After a few beats of silence, Derek stood and cracked his neck, breathing deep to keep himself under control. "The full moon isn't far away. He should be with me during that time." The Sheriff nodded solemnly, letting the change of subject go. Derek left without another word.

Not two minutes later there came a knock on the front door. The Whittemore kid who brought Lydia to the hospital stood on his front porch, shifting on the balls of his feet and looking unsure of himself. Not even when he had the kid shoved into a wall and yelled at him did the boy blanche, so to see him like this was disturbing.

"Um, Mr. Stilinski?" he asked.

"You're Jackson, right?" he responded after letting the boy sweat for a few seconds. The blonde boy nodded curtly.

"Is it-, I heart Stiles was released and I wanted to know if I could talk to him."

The boy seemed so earnest, John would normally have just sent him right up, but Stiles was down for the count. "Maybe tomorrow," he told him.

"Dad-," Stiles's voice came from the top of the stairs. "It's okay."

He let the boy find his way to Stiles room and settled down for a drink. It was already a long night, and it was only just past noon.

X

Jackson stood awkwardly inside of Stiles's room. He wasn't sure why he came, why he felt he needed to talk to Stiles. He never liked him, not that Jackson liked many people, but he still saw the scrawny kid almost die. And now Lydia was missing. And he felt like he shouldn't care, but he did.

"You just gonna stand there all day?" Stiles asked, having crawled on top of his bed. The guy looked wrecked.

"You turned?"

Stiles let out a sigh and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes. "Yes?" He looked back to Jackson and gestured for him to take a seat in the computer chair. "I can hear better, smell better," he told Jackson. "But I'm super weak. I panicked a bit earlier and apparently shifted, but just that small act made me pass out." Jackson sat down, taking in the information. "I overheard Derek talking to my dad," he admitted. "I might still be dying."

Jackson was admittedly freaked. "I was," he began and took a shaky breath. "When I found out I was going to try and become one. But then I saw you and that black stuff coming out of your mouth and… I don't want to die."

"Glad to know you care about me," Stiles rolled his eyes with the comment. "But seriously," he continued, "why would you even want this?"

Jackson scoffed, picking a pen off Stiles's desk and messing with it, just to give himself a distraction. "Better speed, agility, strength."

Stiles just looked at Jackson and shook his head. He listed all the things Stiles still seems to be missing. "You're already the best on the team, Jackson."

"McCall-,"

"Scott needed to get a supernatural booster to reach your level. He's a freaking creature of the night and he still messes up. You have actual ability to do what you do. Don't tell Scott, but that's cooler than having such a huge natural advantage as super powers."

Jackson clenched his jaw pushed the pen away from him on the desk. He needed to be the beset, though. How could he be the best if people had superpowers?

"If you really want it," Stiles continued, "talk to Derek. We need a third, anyway. But you have to know that being bit means being pack. It means being part of a team where you're not captain and you may become stronger than your friends, but you, me, and Scott are like the pee wee league of werewolves."

Jackson wanted to snarl and it was comical because Stiles was the werewolf. God, what had the world come to when Stiles was a werewolf. Without looking at him, Jackson stood and headed to the door. "Yeah, whatever."

"I never wanted this," Stiles told him, before he made it out of the room. "And neither did Scott. But now that I have it I know I have to take everything that comes with it. Just-," Stiles blew out a long breath. "Just make sure you know what comes with it." He watched Jackson go without another word.

Maybe ten minutes later, his dad was leaning against the door frame and watching Stiles fondly and perhaps a bit worriedly. "You know," he began, "It's Kate Argent's funeral this afternoon."

"It is?"

"Yeah."

Stiles let that sit for a minute or two. "Scott's probably watching in the sidelines for Allison."

"Probably," his dad agreed. John sighed and gave a sad smile. "I don't want to leave you, kid, but I have to go work security. I'll keep an eye for Scott, though."

Stiles nodded, understanding. "Thanks.

X

Stiles fell asleep when his father was gone and woke up late that night when Scott scrambled into his window, too excited and disturbed to wait to tell him everything that had happened.

When trying to track Lydia, Scott found the Omega, who then got captured and Derek pulled him out of the way just as Chris showed up along with Alison's grandfather, Gerard. "He was creepy as shit, dude," Scott whined, still flustered from the excitement. "I wish you were there because you would have though his whole super villain style monologue was hilarious, but you probably would have spoken up which wouldn't have been good because dude the dude killed the dude!"

"What?" Stiles asked, having only caught part of Scott's quick paced ramble.

"Allison's grandfather took out a fucking sword man. And Chris then told him about how your dad knows about werewolves and as Sheriff claimed any crimes committed by them are under his jurisdiction but creepy grandpa said he didn't care because werewolves were vermin that killed his daughter and sliced the dude in half!"

Stiles felt panic build inside him. He didn't want to die. He just scraped death. He didn't want to die.

"He what?" a new voice cut in.

The boys froze, faces draining of color. You'd think with two pairs of super senses, they would have noticed when the Sheriff arrived.

"Mr. Stilinski!" Scott meeped. The Sheriff narrowed his eyes and Scott gulped. "Nothing." John tiled his chin down to glower a bit harder and Scott cracked and retold the entire story.

Stiles watched as his dad took in the information. His shoulders tightened and his jaw clenched a bit. Stiles noticed the way his dad's nostrils flared at certain moments of discomfort and the way his heart stuttered in anger. When Scott was done talking, he cowered a bit, ashamed under the gaze of Stiles's dad.

"I deal with this in the morning," the Sheriff said. "I'll need to figure out what to tell the deputies and how I'm going to," he waved his hand in front of his face. "But rest assured, he won't do anything to you. In the meantime, don't bring attention to yourselves, okay?"

The boys nodded. Stiles was already feeling tired again, but he could feel his pulse racing under his skin.

Stiles's dad looked at Stiles and gave a tired smile. "I came up here to tell you we found Lydia. She's safe and the doctors say she's fine. In some sort of fugue state, or whatever. P.T.S.D. type stuff, I don't know." He shook his head and frowned a bit. "She's not..?" He gestured to the two of them.

Stiles shook his head. "I don't think so," he admitted. "She healed normally. But, who knows." He looked down at himself. No one said anything else.

X

Derek was holing up in the abandoned bus depot off of Wells, trying to figure out what he's going to do about Gerard and hunters without a code. This was bad. He'd have to stay in hiding and hope there's no confrontation. In reality, Derek was just tired. He didn't want to fight, but he would if he had to.

The clunk of footsteps coming down the rusted metal stairs caught his attention, freezing him in place and readying for an attack. He sniffed the air and relaxed minutely when he recognized the scent of the Lahey boy he had pulled out of the grave the night before. There hadn't been a way for Derek to shirk the fact that he had single handedly lifted the crane or that Isaac had spotted what looked human digging up a body but heard definite growls. Besides, he was a smart kid. Isaac had asked what are you but Derek hadn't answered, zeroing in on the black eye and the scent of more bruises hidden under his clothes but no touch of the omega he was chasing. Derek scared the kid when he asked who had been beating him up and telling him where to find Derek if he ever wanted to be able to defend himself.

He hadn't brought it up earlier to the others, although he should have. The idea of turning someone after Stiles scared him. He wasn't sure he could do it.

His mind quickly changed when Isaac showed him the injuries on his torso. Derek always though his life was cruel due to losing the people he loved, but he couldn't fathom the person who was supposed to love and protect him the most doing the things Isaac described with shaky breaths and tear filled eyes. Derek got the impression the kid had never told anyone this before.

Isaac's voice grew colder, fiercer, with every word, trying to reign himself back in. "I'm done being weak," he said. "And you're not weak. Whatever it is you are, you're not weak. But you can help me?" He sounded so hopeful, so scared and lost.

"I'm a werewolf," he told Isaac bluntly. "You have to want it," he said sometime later, after explaining about the hunters, about Stiles and Scott, about pack and family and knowing there were risks involved. "You have to want it, all of it. Not wanting what you have now isn't enough."

Isaac rolled his shoulder back and Derek saw past the scared boy who had walked in here for the first time, saw the person Isaac could become. "I want it."


	4. The Moon

It was a few days later that Isaac's father found himself in jail. Derek had come over to tell Stiles about Isaac. In turn, Stiles told his father about the abuse. There was enough proof in that house to have him incarcerated for years. Isaac was still terrified, though. Stiles didn't know a lot about psychology, but he could understand why the fear was still there. The idea that Mr. Lahey could come back and punish Isaac more for standing up for himself is strong, no matter the situation and how safe they truly are.

Although he was still afraid of his father, Isaac had taken to the bite better than Scott. Stiles wouldn't admit out loud to being jealous, but he felt it. He could barely move about his house without feeling dizzy. It was the day of the full moon, and Stiles hoped that weakness changed. He hadn't gone back to school yet, but Lydia came over at 2:30 which meant she came over right after it let out. "Hey?" he said, answering the door. "Surprised to see you," he said truthfully. Although, he probably shouldn't be. He knew how smart Lydia was. She probably wanted more answers than what he gave her back in the hospital.

At first, she complained about her first day back, about the looks people gave her and the way Jackson seemed to be avoiding her. "You have to come back," she pleaded. "Give them someone else to ogle."

Stiles gave her a tired smirk. "I'm sure you enjoyed the attention."

"Attention, yes," she said matter of factly. "Odd looks like I'm the weirdo reject, no. No offense."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Stiles rolled his eyes and lolled his head in Lydia's direction. "You're okay, though. Right? I freaked when I heard about you missing."

Lydia sighed and looked away, an unsureness about her that was completely alien. "I don't remember what I was doing. I've never blacked out like that before."

Stiles took her hand in his. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah."

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, which Stiles's dad answered, having gotten home an hour before Lydia arrived. Scott and Isaac entered, the latter looking twitchy but still giving the Sheriff a semi grateful smile. "Lydia!" Scott said in surprised before furrowing his brow. "You know, it might be smart if you come with us," he muttered.

Lydia narrowed her eyes , her lips thinning in calculation. "Go with you _where_?"

"To Derek's," Stiles supplied, getting to his feet carefully. "And Scott's right. You should come with us. We still don't know how Peter's bite affected you, and it's the full moon tonight." He caught the way Lydia's heart did a double blip, her face not betraying any inner turmoil.

"Right," she said tersely. "Werewolves."

X

They arrived at the abandoned depot plenty early for the night. Derek examined Lydia as she stood still with a flippant expression. "She smells human," he told them. There weren't any signs as to her having transformed, unlike Stiles. "I've never seen anything like this," Derek admitted, crossing his arms and frowning deeply. "It might not be safe for you to be here, if any of them get out of control, but…" he trailed off.

"But if I _do _turn into something, it would be best to do it under proper supervision," Lydia concluded, not happy about any of this.

Derek explained anchors to them, how they help tie you to humanity. Stiles had stumbled upon this concept when helping Scott, realizing it was Allison for him. "It's not supposed to be," Derek gritted through his teeth. "Attraction is too basal of an emotion, can be too easily transferred to the wolf part of you."

"You can say the same thing about pain," Lydia quipped. "So really, you're just countering yourself." Derek growled lowly at her before continuing on his tirade. Lydia made frank remarks occasionally, refusing to flinch when she struck a nerve in Derek.

Scott, who was somewhat in control of his shit, and Stiles, who was so weak he couldn't handle much pain, took the less extreme of the restraints. They tied down Isaac first, and moonrise neared. Stiles second, chained to the bus seat he was in, and Scott third. Lydia watched on in horrid fascination.

Then they waited. Isaac felt it first, the pull of the moon forcing a shift from him like a root canal without anesthetic. He pulled against the restraints, his face contorting until his brow thickened and his jaw widened and his teeth sharpened and his eyes glowed. Lydia couldn't suppress every flinch his rattling chains and deep growls shook through her.

Scott felt it just the same, but his anchor held him fast.

Stiles grew warier with every passing minute, Isaac's noises behind him flicking in and out of his attention. His throat felt closed off, his vision blurring. He could zero in on the heartbeats around him, Isaac's thrumming like a rabbits, faster than even Lydia's, whose body was seeping fear. Derek and Scott's pulses were steady, but his… Stiles could feel his heart rate slow with every beat, the time between each pump of blood stretching further and further. He began to feel dizzy.

"Guys," he mumbled, forcing the words through his raw throat. "I don't feel so good."

He heard Lydia calling his name, then Derek's gruff voice calling out to him. An odd sense of déjà vu took over as Derek's calloused fingers griped his face, gently tapping his cheek to get him to open his eyes. Derek dropped his face, ignoring Stiles whimper, and raced over to Scott. The beta was beginning to panic over his friend, but Derek flashed his eyes and Scott stilled. "I need you to watch over Isaac," he commanded. "Are you in control enough to do that?"

Scott nodded with a throaty "yeah," knowing this was serious as Derek took off his restraints. Derek rushed back to Stiles where Lydia was hovering, terror on her face as the boy coughed up black goo.

"Shit," he said, trying not to panic himself. Lydia was demanding what happened. Derek wanted to ignore her, but the question rang through him all the same. He had no clue.

Derek kneeled between Stiles legs and grasped his face between his hands again. Stiles began to convulse under his touch, whining in pain his body began to shift and then drifted back to the human form. He looked over to Isaac, who was trying to hold onto his humanity, and back to Stiles, who looked at him with all too human eyes.

"Derek?"

His voice sounded so broken. Stiles's eyes began to flicker like a strobe light between the honey brown Derek normally saw and the bright gold he had only caught a glimpse of the other night. Stiles squeeze his eyes tight and opened them again, fully human. Derek wracked his brain for something, anything, not even knowing what attempts at soothing words were spewing from his lips. "It'll be okay," he heard himself say.

"Derek," Stiles said again, pleaded. Derek had a flash back to the night he killed Peter, when Stiles collapsed to the ground, dying. He remembered the words he told Stiles then, and hoped they only needed repeating.

"Don't reject this," Derek told him. "I know I told you how to hold onto your humanity, but just this once, Stiles. Please. Let it go. Accept the change. You need to change." When Stiles shifted in the Sheriff's living room, it had only gone so far as to flash eyes and elongate teeth. He hadn't fully shifted and yet it took everything out of him. Now, with the moon demanding a shift, his body was still too weak to comply because it was fighting so hard to deny this part of him. "You need to be a wolf, Stiles." He put his forehead against the boy's and breathed slowly, in time with Stiles's heart. "You have to take this, you have to be stronger than Peter, you have to want it. Stiles. Stiles, _please_."

He vaguely noted Lydia lace her fingers with Stiles, wincing when his nails shifted to claws but not letting go. Her voice joined with his, begging him to let the bite take over.

"Think of me," Derek instructed. "Think of the moon. Think of pack. Feel the change and don't resist it. Okay, Stiles? Don't resist it. Want it."

Stiles shivered, his body shaking, but his heart grew steadier, stronger, faster. Derek could feel the way his features changed beneath his hands.

Derek didn't know what he was asking. Scott couldn't hear it, his focus too distressed to realize anything than the surface situation. Isaac couldn't hear it, his struggle with humanity drowning out anything but the pull of the moon and the sheer panic rolling off his alpha, subduing his animalistic nature slightly. Lydia could tell, though, her mind connecting dots invisible to most. Stiles, his hearing tuning in and out, could only hear it, and nothing else.

All the while Derek's voice chimed in his ear, his breath ghosting over his lips, his heartbeat reaching out to Stiles, Stiles heard the truth.

Something released in his throat, his airway opening. The force of it all knocked his head back, Derek pulling away but never letting go. From deep inside, something grew and built like a geyser pushing to the surface until a roar of the beast split through the fangs that tore open his lips.

X

The next day, Stiles was alive. Stiles was bone tired, but alive. More alive than he felt in a long time. His heartbeat was stronger and he didn't fear fainting, and everything was crisp and clear to all his senses. He could take on the world if is body would cooperate. Despite everything, he was still weak, his muscles giving out on him the first time he tried to stand. He insisted on going to school, though.

Lydia gave him shy smiles throughout the day. When he woke up in the depot with Scott and Isaac and Derek, they had explained everything that happened. He barely remembered. His eyes had lingered on Derek, though, as if his figure held his memories. He was in Economics when he remembered. Yes, he had accepted what he needed to. He accepted Derek. Stiles made a fist and let it go, watching the fingers of his hand. When he concentrated, he could still smell the alpha on his own skin where Derek had touched him. He wondered if Derek even knew.

Lydia pulled him aside before lunch with another smile and Stiles could feel his heart swell as it did with each one, but it wasn't the same. She knew. He could see it in her eyes. "I didn't change," she said.

"We all changed," he replied, no longer referring to the full moon. They had all changed.

Everything had changed. He wanted to laugh. Of course, things had changed. He was a supernatural creature, he'd set a man on fire, he almost died, he couldn't climb the wall during gym class because his body was still too weak to do much more than shuffle around the hallways, _Jackson _had come to _him_ for advice (possibly, maybe, that was still weird), he didn't think he was in love with Lydia Martin, and he quite possibly let himself be saved by Derek in a way neither of them could understand.

So, yeah, things had changed. After lunch, Stiles sat on the bleachers during gym class. Finstock barked orders about safety to the group for rock climbing and he was jealous and frustrated. Even the sight of Lydia wearing gym shorts and her usual bitch face didn't do anything for him. He wanted to protect her, he felt this surge of warmth we she gave him the time of day, but it was like having watched her almost die, having almost died himself, having her be there for him last night, the band-aid on her wrist… it felt like he and Lydia were more blood brothers than he and Scott. She was like a sister.

He wanted to hit himself and roll his eyes and pout about the utter ridiculousness of it all. He finally got Lydia Martin, perfection on high heels, to notice him, and he couldn't feel anything for her. What was his life!? Stiles sighed, watching on as Allison beat Scott on the wall. One with werewolves and hunters and he still had to go to school and deal with hormones, apparently.

He watched as Erica Reyes froze up halfway through the rock wall and everyone gathered round as the coach tried to coax her down. She smelled off. Stiles could tell from across the room that she wasn't healthy, his nose zeroing in on her when he looked her way. He caught the sound of Allison reminding the Coach she had epilepsy. The knowledge made Stiles frown and his thoughts turn.

Later, after having _felt_ her begin to seize from his classroom and then hearing about Scott being the big damn hero, catching her, Stiles made up his mind and texted Derek. **The bite cured Scott of his asthma, can it fix other things? **A moment later his phone buzzed. **Like what? **Stiles bit his lip. He wasn't sure how much becoming a werewolf had helped his ADHD, if at all, and that was an issue with brain chemical imbalance… although it's still technically undetermined. Either way, he's been taking his medication like normal. But, that wasn't the point. **Epilepsy? **There was a longer wait, but eventually Derek replied. **It should, yeah. **

Stiles kept accidentally tuning into people talking about Erica, about how she was brought to the hospital, about her mom, about how people thought seizing like that was funny, about previous seizures she'd had in school. He wondered briefly if he should ask Scott's opinion, but ultimately, it was Derek's pack. Stiles excused himself to the bathroom and called Derek.

"I have someone you might want to add to the pack," he said by way of greeting.

X

Derek walked into the hospital and asked for Erica Reyes at the front desk and following the signs to her room number. He waited around the corner until he knew her room was empty and slipped in. "Erica?"

Derek had thought about how to approach this a number of times on his way over. He had his cornerstones of a pack in place, he wasn't desperate. Still, he didn't want her to reject him. He didn't want to make a hunter out of a human.

"Yeah?"

He gave her a smile, a small one, an honest one. She was just a scared child, really. "What if there was a way for you to be cured?"

X

Deaton looked up from his notes when the bell over the entrance rang. "Mr. Stilinski," he said, taking in the appearance of the thin boy who was shifting nervously from side to side, "what can I do for you?" There was nobody else in his office at the moment. Scott wasn't due for work for another hour, either.

Stiles frowned and shifted the weight of his backpack. "I think," he paused to lick his lips, "I think something happened when Derek bit me, other than the whole, you know, lycanthropy thing."

Scott had told Deaton about Stiles's case when he was still in the hospital. Deaton frowned and thought it over for a moment. "There are a few possibilities," he admitted.


	5. The Vendetta

Erica took to werewolfdom like a fish to water. She could feel the way her body seemed to just work now. It was exhilarating, to say the least. Stiles, however, was still making his way to and from classes like a leper. She had heard the whole story of how Stiles got the bite, a cautionary tale of sorts. The bite could kill.

Stiles was jealous, though. He couldn't help but be jealous. He didn't want this, but it was his and yet everyone around him could actually use their powers. He was sulking in the lunchroom when Lydia sat down across from him. "Did you see that entrance?" she scoffed.

Stiles shrugged, his mouth smirking without his consent. "Well, she's trying to become the N.H.B.I.C., and it certainly turned heads." There were still a group of boys staring at the double doors like it was all a mirage. Lydia near snorted. Stiles looked up at that, really scrutinizing her. "What's wrong?" he asked. Her eyes looked tired and puffy.

Lydia pulled her shoulders back as if to gain her full height. "Jackson," she said steadily, "broke up with me." Stiles sputtered in confusion and slight outrage. No one hurts Lydia, no matter if his feelings are romantic or fraternal at the moment. She held up a hand and Stiles pulled his lips in to shut himself up. "He said he needs to take a step away from the supernatural and I am holding him back." Her words were so matter of fact that Stiles frowned.

"You know," Stiles began, "Scott had me bribe Boyd for the keys to the ice rink so he and Allison could go on a super-secret not date. You should come." Lydia gave an unimpressed look, seemingly flawless despite her recently touched up make-up not completely hiding the fact she had cried. "Not like, a double date. I probably won't even be able to make it onto the ice, but you should come. Get your mind off things."

She narrowed her eyes, but it wasn't meanly, just searching, curious. "You're on, Stilinski."

X

Allison pulled Lydia into a tight hug when she arrived at her house before going out that night, having only just heard about Jackson. Allison's father had warned about Lydia, that he could make one special circumstance with Scott, but two was pushing it. Lydia had dutifully eavesdropped and then curtly told him "I am not a werewolf, Mr. Argent. Trust me, I was with them just in case I was, and I didn't shift at all," and then turned back into Allison's room to reapply her lipstick.

Chris wanted to ask more, but Allison gave a sharp look and he backed off for now. On the way to the ice rink, Allison admitted to Lydia that her father had also warned them about Gerard. "He's okay with breaking the rules we set up," she told Lydia. Allison gripped her friend's hand and looked into her eye. "Be careful."

Lydia nodded, refusing to let her fear show. A few hours later, however, when they were on the ice, Lydia found herself screaming bloody murder. She could just make out Stiles yelling her name, calling her back to the land of the living. He was on the ice without skates, having slid over the moment she became distressed. When she came out of it, she was crying and trying her hardest to breath.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," Stiles joked with a weary smile when Lydia's eyes focused again. Lydia took in a few deep breaths, calming herself, giving a reassuring nod to where Allison stood, and Scott behind her. "You okay?" Stiles asked once she seemed fully in control of herself.

"I saw him," she whispered, locking eyes with Stiles. "I saw Peter, under the ice, and he looked at me. And there was a flower."

Stiles frowned. "Perhaps the bite did something to you after all," he said, thinking of his discussion with Deaton earlier that week.

"Like what?" Lydia asked a little hysterically.

Stiles shook his head and squeezed Lydia's hand. She hadn't noticed he was holding it until then. "I don't know," he told her honestly. "But we'll figure it out."

X

Stiles was in the bus station, telling Derek about Lydia's hallucinations. He had her catalog everything she had seen. They had already determined the flower was a type of wolfsbane, something she hadn't come across before outside of textbooks. She had no reason to associate them with werewolves. Scott was with Deaton going over the story, seeking the same answers.

"That's not a normal hallucination," Stiles concluded. Derek nodded, but didn't know what it was. They discussed it some more before Derek got that constipated look that Stiles deciphered as trying to use his words but failing epically at opening his mouth and talking. "What?" he asked.

"I was outside the school, keeping watch over Erica and Isaac since they're still new to the shift."

Stiles nodded a few times. "So becoming an alpha did nothing for your creeper tendencies. And?"

Derek gave him a hard look and rolled his eyes. "And that kid you were talking to, the one with the keys to the ice rink."

After a few moments of waiting for more explanation Stiles blinked and then raised an eyebrow. "Was that a ..question?" he asked. Derek huffed and shifted in his seat and whoa since when are we sitting so close, Derek's hand is practically touching my thigh. He didn't pick anything up from Derek when he listened. He didn't even seem aware of their proximity.

"I think he'd make a good addition. He's solid, steady, level headed."

Stiles thought of what he knew about Boyd. His first name was Vernon. He sat alone at lunch. He'd never seen kid outside of school or riding the Zamboni. He was a little shit when it came to paying him for the keys, but in a way Stiles could appreciate. He smelled like apricots and dark coffee grinds. He liked the smell. It was a good smell, if a little bitter. But not the bad bitter which felt cloying on his tongue, but rich and wise and maybe just a little sad. Stiles shrugged.

"It's your call, man," he told Derek. "I'm okay with it, not that you need my permission. Just, you know, make sure he knows what he's getting into, like with the others." He saw Derek's lip quirk briefly, like an acknowledgement or private comfort. "Anyway," Stiles continued, having checked his watch, "it's just past midnight and my dad's working the dead shift. I'm gonna go bring him a midnight snack and then head off to bed." He stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his clothes, more from nervous habit than being able to accomplish anything with the gesture. "Night, Derek."

He was all the way to the door when he heard Derek's soft reply. "Goodnight, Stiles."

X

Matt Deahler's fingers fidgeted with the unfamiliar weight in his hands. The gun's bulky frame fit perfectly in the palm of his hands and the idea of killing shouldn't feel so good. He knew that. But he had been stewing in hate for days. Ever since the high school's old swim coach showed up in the background of one of his photos, all the rage and passion born out of fear from so many years ago resurfaced and he could feel the boiling of his blood. This needed to be done, and no one was going to do it for him.

"Hey, kid. Where are you going?" a bored and bemused voice asked, snapping Matt out of his thoughts as he tried make his way past the front of the police station, the gun now resting safely in his coat pocket. He turned to see a young black woman in uniform with a tired and narrow look on her face glaring at him.

Matt pulled from his memory the sight of the familiar blue jeep sitting outside the station. "Stiles," he answered, not batting an eye. "He texted me. He's still a little weak and he knew I'd be up so he asked me to drive him home."

The woman gave him a once over and shrugged. "Sheriff's office is three doors down and to the right."

Stiles hadn't heard his name being said in the front, too distracted by the smile on his dad's face as he munched on curly fries. He may have put his dad on a diet and got him a veggie burger, but Stiles felt lenient on the fact that werewolves were a thing and his dad had to pull a few extra late nights this month, so he gave the Sheriff fries. There, unfortunately, hadn't been any front in the Argent business yet. There was no evidence. The hunters knew how to clean their tracks. All the Sheriff could do was warn them again, this time Gerard to his face. "I don't like the feel of that man," he told his son. "I'm serious about be careful, laying low." Stiles, for once, didn't have any complaints. He didn't want to survive the trials of the bite just to die because he was careless around something as dangerous as Allison's grandfather sounded.

For now, though, they could relax. But both their smiles dropped when the shot rang.

"Stay here," his dad ordered, darting out of the room and shutting the door before Stiles could even make a sound of protest. He latched onto the sound of his father's heartbeat and followed it to the source of the gunfire.

Stiles could feel his own heart begin to race, fear for his father overwhelming. He could smell smoke from the gun and blood, the same bitter taste to it that Stiles had sniffed when passing by the cell room earlier. Stiles had then barely suppressed a growl at Mr. Lahey. Now his scent clung to the air like a bitter temptation. Stiles raced behind his dad's desk and pulled up the station's security footage on the computer, muting it as to not give away his location. Stiles didn't need the sound, he could hear just fine.

He recognized the kid from his History class, though on footage he looked crazed, Mr. Lahey bleeding out behind him in the jail cell. He could hear his dad and the other cops telling Matt to drop his weapon, the gun he still held and was waving between the three officers that had filed into the room. Stiles heart picked up again. Matt was unstable. Matt might shoot. Matt could shoot his dad.

Stiles heard Matt blather an explanation, that Lahey had killed him, drowned him. That it was his fault and he deserved this. They all did, but him the most. Stiles didn't really understand, but it didn't matter. Stiles needed to do something, but he felt frozen to the spot, the adrenaline in his system doing nothing about the tiredness, the weakness of his muscles. He still had trouble walking.

Stiles smelled Derek before the alpha burst his way into the front of the station and into the security feed. He saw the way Derek's nostrils flared. Somehow Stiles knew Derek was sniffing him out. "My dad!" he said, just above normal volume. Derek heard and Stiles watched from screen to screen as Derek made his way to the room where Matt was screaming, crying, pulling the trigger of his gun for the second time.

It was the worst horror movie Stiles had ever seen, the screen detaching him from reality but his other senses reeling him in for a full experience. He barely even noticed his fingers had shaped themselves into claws, scrapping into the wood of his father's desk.

The second shot rang, the gun pointed at the Sheriff, but before any one of them could so much as pull their own trigger fingers in reflex, Derek had barreled in, knocking the deputies to the ground to get between the bullet and Stiles's dad. Derek's own scent heavy with the weight of blood grew pungent, but Derek didn't so much as yell in pain. The camera had difficulty capturing the speed and fluidity of the movements, but Stiles watched as Derek's shoulder pushed back by the force of the bullet and then his whole body came forward, crowded Matt, ripping the gun from his fingers and twisting his hand until the bones broke with a sickening crunch, the kid's screaming changing from one of crazed panic and rage to shock and pain.

It was a few hours later that Stiles finally got to collapse into his bed. He refused to leave the office until his dad was off shift. An ambulance had been called long before Derek arrived and it left with Lahey and Matt and three armed police officers. There wasn't enough room for Derek, whom the Sheriff promised to drive to the hospital personally. It was a good thing, because Derek's shoulder was already healed and he was only "putting pressure on the wound" with his left hand to save face. The three of them were the only ones left in the station until more on call deputies arrived.

"How did you know?" Stiles asked Derek as he was changing into one of his dad's t-shirts.

Derek shifted his gaze between Stiles and his father after pulling the loose grey shirt over his head, though it still stretched a bit over his chest. "I could just feel it. Your distress," he answered, looking Stiles in the eye. Stiles couldn't hold himself back any longer. He had spent twenty minutes hugging his dad after things cleared, burrowing his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, reveling in the feel of his heartbeat from under his skin and the many pulse points he could touch. Now he hugged Derek, thanking him and burrowing his nose in the same fashion. He had taken a bullet for his dad, after all.

"You ever think of joining the police?" John offered once Stiles had pulled himself away. "Can't say there's a higher recommendation than 'this man saved my life' I could give to the academy."

Derek honest to god blushed at the emotion coming from the Sheriff. Stiles could feel it too. Derek probably didn't receive this much gratitude and love and warmth and pride. He should. Derek was a good person. But he probably didn't.

The answer was no, he hadn't, but he'd told the Sheriff he'd think about it. It wasn't until he saw both John and Stiles safely home and tucked in bed that Derek went back to the bus depot. Isaac was there, which didn't surprise him. Child services had placed him with a local foster care until they could get a hold of some distant family member the kid admitted to never having met before and Isaac snuck out every night to stay with Derek. Looking at the curly haired teen, it wasn't even a question. Derek would put in a request to gain guardianship in the morning. He told Isaac as much when he informed him his father had died on the way to the hospital.

Derek was honestly surprised how hard it hit Isaac. "He may have done terrible things," Isaac explained, "but he was once good. And he was still my dad." He let the boy curl up to him that night, his cheeks never drying, even as he slept. His words resonated with Derek and he thought about Peter.


	6. The Ties

Derek actually ran into Gerard the grocery store, of all places. It was a busy Saturday afternoon and the store was crowded. He couldn't do anything, neither of them could do anything. That didn't stop Gerard from making threats with carefully laid words. The man had taken control of the school. He had known Lydia and Stiles had been bitten. They had been in the hospital, the knowledge was unavoidable. Thankfully, their length of stay it took them to heal was enough to make them wonder if they turned. Gerard was keeping an eye on them, but he hadn't learned about Scott and even Chris didn't know about Isaac or Boyd. Derek could only assume the dramatic change in Erica gave them suspicions.

Scott couldn't understand why Derek had expanded the pack past the needed foundation. It was Stiles who answered before Derek could say something that would irk Scott more. The beta may have accepted Derek as his alpha, but there was still tension between them. "It's their choice," Stiles had explained. "It wasn't ours, but it's our life now. There's nothing wrong with that. It's okay for them to choose this." Scott, Derek thought, would never really understand, but it ended the subject of conversation.

Derek was still using the abandoned bus depot as a training ground for the new betas, although after meeting with people to discuss Isaac, he realized he needed a real address, so he was looking into finding an apartment or something. Stiles watched on, every afternoon when he couldn't be at lacrosse, as Boyd and Erica and Derek fought until Scott and Isaac showed up. They were all getting better. And Derek was right about Boyd. He stabled the pack by personality more than the 3 beta cornerstone rule did. Stiles may not have been able to participate, his body still barely letting him make it through the school day, but he spent his time texting Allison and Lydia.

Lydia, who was having less 'I see dead people' freak outs, was integrating herself into the Argent household. She never wanted to be helpless again. Stiles had also directed her to Deaton. He was teaching her his mystical 'I'm just a vet' ways. Allison was also getting on her grandfather's good side. She and Scott were 'separated', but they were still together, and Allison wanted to keep her friends safe. That meant not being kept in the dark, like she had been with Kate. She was being trained as a hunter and she was feeding Stiles all the information she could get a hold of.

"Lacrosse game tonight," Scott said cheerily after knocking Isaac to the floor. "Gotta be better than that."

Stiles wanted to throw up. Their budding broship irritated him, so he turned back to his phone. Lydia was complaining about her forced therapy session with Morrell earlier that day and the boy who was annoying hitting on her beforehand.

**Was he cute?** He texted, sending a second without waiting for a reply. **Bc if yes, go for it. Shove it in jerkson's face.**

He tracked Boyd as he made his way over and sat down next to him. Stiles may not be able to fight with them, but his hearing and sense of smell was getting _very _acute. He didn't even need to look up from his phone to know where all of them were, who was currently bleeding, etc. "You coming tonight?" Boyd asked. They were all planning on going to the game, it would be easier on Scott and Isaac to reign it in with other members there. Derek was holding back though, not wanting to risk running into Gerard and give his betas away.

Stiles sighed. "Somehow it's worse watching from the bleachers than from the bench even though I'm just as not-playing as I was before." When the other betas left for the game, it was just Derek and Stiles in the abandoned building, the latter of which still stared at his phone like it would solve all the problems they were facing.

Stiles listened as Derek made his way closer. If Stiles were still human, he wouldn't have been able to hear the soft footfalls, the silent breathing, and definitely not the steady thrum of the alpha's pulse. It was soothing, in a way. "What's wrong?" Derek asked, taking the seat next to Stiles that Boyd had just vacated.

"Lydia's not telling me something," he said, biting his lip. "She had marks on her hand today, like she punched something, glass maybe, and it scraped her up." Stiles sighed and stood, using the stair railing as a support. "Her freak outs aren't frequent but she's still having them."

Derek nodded, offering his hand to help Stiles. He looked at the offer warily. Stiles hadn't told Derek about his talk with Deaton, about why he may not be taking to the bite fully. It wasn't fair to ask of Derek. Just because the alpha didn't want Stiles to die didn't mean anything more, no matter what Derek had inadvertently done, had asked Stiles to accept when his body was still leaking black bile.

Stiles took Derek's hand and let himself be led to the mat Derek had set up at the side of the station. They settled down and Stiles told Derek everything he had gathered from Allison and Lydia over the past few days. He and Derek didn't talk every day, but this was becoming something of a routine. Stiles was the information man. He was okay with this, since he couldn't do much else. Stiles phone buzzed again and he swiped it open. **He was cute but a little creepy. Just ur type, right? **Stiles could feel the heat burn at his face. He hadn't exactly _told _Lydia, but that girl was a genius. **YOU'RE my type ;) ** he responded. The thing is, they both knew that wasn't true anymore.

"Um," Stiles cleared his throat, looking up to an expectant Derek. "Lydia's been working with Deaton. She's really good at figuring out his cryptic bullshit." Derek hummed with a barely contained eye-roll over the vet. "But, it looks like there are other creatures that go bump in the night," he said looking at Derek's expression for clues.

Stiles never had a problem seeing before, but he could pick out details like he never would have been able to. He saw the way Derek ever so briefly flicked his eyes to the left and the corner of his lip twitched downward. It happened so quickly a normal person wouldn't have even noticed Derek's face had moved at all.

"So that's a yes," Stiles surmised.

This time, Derek's lip-twitch was longer and more of an almost smile. "You're getting good at that."

"Thanks," Stiles smiled before steeling his face as best he could. "But stop deflecting."

"Try not staring so hard next time and see if you can catch the details," Derek suggested.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "So, other things that go bump in the night?"

Derek sighed and leaned back against the concrete wall, turning his phone over and over in his hands. "I don't really know much other than werewolves aren't the only things to actually exist, and most of my families library burned, so." He shrugged and then gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "The Argents probably know more than I do."

Stiles made a sound of acknowledgement and quickly texted Allison, asking if she knew about other possible creatures and where her family kept their info. She quickly got a response: **I'll ask. **Stiles loved how uncomplicated things were between him and Allison and their mutual sharing of knowledge so not to run into problems. They were smart about it too, plausible deniability and all that. Allison knew the pack had grown, she doesn't know who the members are. Stiles knows they've brought in a team of hunters, but Stiles doesn't know anything more than the number of men and when they're patrolling. Stiles and Lydia are told whenever they make wolfsbane weapons and what type of wolfsbane is used so they can make sure to have some handy in case of an altercation. Allison knows she won't be attacked as long as Scott 'lays claim to her'.

Stiles just hopes they never have to actually use their information, especially against each other.

"You're not okay," Derek says suddenly. Stiles snaps his head up, trying to read Derek. He still can't identify that scent as something other than _Derek_. Cinnamony but like warm milk and daffodils. Like sunlight and rain and god it was frustrated that he couldn't just _label _it because none of those scents were right. Stiles needed to make a scent catalog, he decided.

"No," Stiles agreed, "I'm not." He heard the subtle inhalation that was a prelude to speaking but Derek never opened his mouth. "Of course I'm not," Stiles continued. "I can barely make it through the day, just walking around school and keeping my senses in control, without collapsing in utter exhaustion by the time I reach home. There's a crazy geriatric in town who feels no qualms against killing teenagers if they're werewolves and _my dad_ has _talked _to him about it, putting him on a potential shit list. Lydia is slowly becoming one of my best friends just in time for me to lose all romantic feelings for her because my life is a cosmic joke, _and _she's having psychotic episodes that I can do nothing about. My _best _friend is in a supernatural version of Romeo and Juliet and we all know that ends in everyone dying and I'd really rather not."

Stiles didn't realize his lungs were restricting painfully and his words were rasping against his throat until Derek was holdings his wrists in one hand and placing the other against Stiles's chest, right over his heart. "Stiles," Derek said sharply, calmly, his voice tinged with an alpha command. "Breathe." It was amazing for Stiles how quickly he was able to snap out of his budding panic attack with Derek helping him. _Fuck_, Stiles thought to himself.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Guess that was building for a while."

Derek shook his head, slowly letting go of Stiles and resuming his previous seat. "Nothing to apologize for."

X

Allison has long ago tired of being a weak little girl. She's always had her struggles with being as strong as she wanted to be (strong minded, strong willed, strong bodied, strong stomach) but she also knew she wasn't weak. Not anymore. Especially with all the training she was receiving. The idea of what she was learning made her queasy, but she also knew she would take over, eventually. And she could change things. And she could use her knowledge to _protect _people, protect packs from people like her aunts. Protect Scott from people like her grandfather. Protect Lydia from people who will only see the bite and not the person, protect her from people who would kill her even when she wasn't a werewolf, let alone hurt anyone. Protect herself when the backlash of being in love with a werewolf hit her.

She played the role of dutiful daughter and budding huntress to a T. Her parents questioned, but never in front of Gerard, and never the right questions. She was honest in saying she wanted to learn. Luckily, other than Gerard running into Derek in a super public place, nothing had happened. He didn't even question her motives to know about other creatures and the Argent history. "I never want to be caught unawares again," she said when asking, and that was enough for him. He told her about the bestiary, but nothing about where he kept it. "That'll be for later," he told her, "must finish your current studies first."

Strategy came first. How to be a good leader for war. It turned her stomach, but she was okay with that. Allison knew she's never have a stomach of steel like Aunt Kate, and she was glad for it. It would keep her human, because Kate was more of a monster than Scott ever will be. Allison's disgust in what her grandfather was planning was enough to keep her sane. She texted Stiles, told him there was a bestiary, but that was all she knew at the moment, then immediately deleted it from her phone. Her parents checked on her too often.

Allison talked to Gerard about the bestiary, about her training, about anything that would get his eyes off the game as they sat next to each other on the bleachers. He claimed needing to support the school as the new principal. She knew he was scouting out for betas. "Why do you think Derek would be turning high schoolers?" Allison asked, making sure the people around her couldn't hear. "I mean, he's in his twenties, right?"

Gerard patted her knee with a sly wink that gave her goosebumps. "It's easier to turn a teen, I've been told. Bodies not so fragile as children's, not so set in their ways as adults. More or a chance for success."

Allison scrunched her brow, looking out for Scott on the field. "But, Peter bit at least two people and it nearly killed both of them. Stiles went into a coma and both he and Lydia took at least a week to heal. A werewolf doesn't take that long, right?"

Her grandfather's face contorted into something sinister. "There's something wrong with both of them, though. Perhaps they're not werewolves, but they're not human, which makes them dangerous." Allison didn't agree, but she only nodded in response.

Despite her attempts at distraction, Scott still found himself invited over for dinner for scoring the winning goal. It was just as awkward as she could have imagined.

X

"You're getting the hang of it," Derek reassured Stiles as the boy slumped against the wall.

"Oh, yay, I can change my hands and flash my eyes voluntarily now and only feel like I'm going to throw up a little instead of full on passing out," Stiles griped. He ran a tired hand over his face and groaned. "I'm never going to be better, Derek. I'm never going to be normal and I'm never going to be anything other than _this_."

"Yes, you are," Derek snapped, tired of this argument. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes to the beta. He could feel Stiles pulling energy from him after every attempt at shifting. He wasn't sure the boy was aware he was doing it. But they needed to keep trying. With every siphoning of his power over to Stiles, the teen pushed out more of Peter's poison. It was slow going, sure, but it was working. He could _feel _it. Derek could feel Stiles, more connected to him than any of his other betas. The power exchange stirred something in him, but it was… nice. And he didn't like the way Stiles sounded like he was still going to die.

Derek walked over to where Stiles sat slumped against the concrete, breathing steadily into his hands as a way to calm himself. "Stiles," he said, crouching down and placing a hand over Stiles's fists. "We'll fix this. And when we do, you'll probably be the strongest beta."

Stiles laughed dryly. There were tears forming in the corner of his eyes as they fluttered, Stiles taking a shaky breath. Derek wondered what it was that Stiles smelled. The boy's senses were proving to be stronger, more sensitive than even Derek's. All Derek could parse was the salt of his tears, the rich haze of _Stiles_ and _sick_ that had been clouding him since he turned, and the stench of mold coming from one of the far corners of the building. Derek could see that Stiles was analyzing something deeper than that though.

"It doesn't work that way, Derek," he finally said, his voice choked with unshed tears. "I know. I talked to Deaton. I _know _how to fix this. But I can't. I – you. It's not something I can just do or just take." One of the tears escaped as Stiles squeezed his eyes in frustration, rolling down his cheek. "Because, it's not just about me."

Derek's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Peter?" he guessed, but Stiles just shook his head, rubbing at his eyes feverishly.

"You," he said softly, not meeting Derek's gaze. "You have to want it."

He felt his own heart do a double flip at Stiles's words, but he wasn't sure why. They didn't make sense. Of course he wanted it. He wanted Stiles to be pack, he wanted Stiles to live. That was why he bit him after turning alpha. "Want what?"


	7. The Bond

Stiles looked into Derek's eyes, searching desperately. The alpha's face was open and raw like he had never seen it before. He gulped nervously and licked his lips, trying to block the way Derek smelled of hot tea and dark chocolate and _fuck _because none of those were _right_, but they were quite overpowering at this distance. Stiles couldn't ask Derek this, because he was beginning to know the guy, and he would give it, or try to.

His phone began buzzing incessantly in his pocket. _Saved by the bell_, he thought, pulling it out and pressing the accept call button when he saw Scott on the caller ID. He would have answered even if it were a telemarketer, to be honest. Anything to get away from this confession. "Hey man, Boyd said you guys won." He had been getting texts all night from the pack. Scott's voice came in as a panicked jumble. Even with his super senses, Stiles couldn't quite follow what Scott was saying. "Slow down, man! Slow. What? What happened? Where are you? Derek and I will be right there." He was already being pulled to his feet by said alpha, Stiles's free hand clasped around Derek's. He tried not to think about the contact and focused on Scott, who was talking more sense now.

"My _mom_, Stiles. She's fine now, but he threatened her! "

"From the beginning, Scott."

There were sounds of deep breaths coming from the other side, and pacing. Stiles had a feeling Scott was in his room. He listened harder through the static and sure enough there was the dull tick of his wall clock that shook before clicking off the next second. Stiles had found out that it was quite a distinct clock and also that Stiles couldn't sleep with traditional clocks in his room.

"Gerard," Scott said, as Stiles and Derek made their way out of the depot and into the Camaro. "He invited me to dinner after the game and I couldn't say no and he seemed like he didn't know during dinner, but he _knows_, you know. And then I went to pick up my mom and _thank god_ I had that as an excuse to leave, but he followed me and _fucking stabbed me in the stomach_ while threatening _my mom!_"

"Okay, fuck, _fuck_," Stiles sputtered, not knowing what to say, his mind whirling too fast to pin down words. He clutched the door's handlebar as Derek made a sharp turn and spat out another profanity into the phone.

"No, _Stiles_," Scott's voice cracked over the line, still sounding anxious and worried, but oddly excited. "This is a good thing. Not a good thing! But," Scott continued to rambling about how Gerard was crazy and a killer and threatening perfectly ordinary humans to get leverage over Scott and not getting to the point where-

"HOW THE HELL IS THIS A GOOD THING!?" Stiles yelled over his friend's rambling. Very rarely were their situations reversed like this, but Stiles dealt with Scott the same way Scott dealt with Stiles.

"I recorded it," he finally said, just as Derek turned onto Scott's street. "The whole thing." There were sounds of footsteps running down stairs and Stiles watched as Scott burst out of his front door in time for Derek to pull up. As Stiles and Derek get out of the car, Scott ends the call and runs over to them. "See," he continues, "I've been thinking how your dad said we don't have evidence so I made the voice recording widget the easiest to find without looking and-," Scott pressed the app on his phone and Gerard's voice crackled back at them.

The three of them stood stalk still in the front of the McCall house as Stiles catalogued every word coming out of the tiny speaker of Scott's phone. "This is brilliant," he said, beaming. He grabbed Scott's face and gave a smack on his cheek. "We're taking this to my Dad. We're-," his face grew stern in a sudden shift of thought, "You're telling your mom," he said, "she can't have a target on her and not be aware about it." Stiles's features shifted again to a contemplative grimace. "We might want to bring Danny into the know because he's the only person I know who can figure out to edit out the werewolf bits without it looking tampered, but the police can totally use this as evidence," he concluding, growing excited again. "You're brilliant sometimes, you know that."

Scott ducked his head bashfully. Scott was struggling with school on top of all the werewolf business, not to mention Allison, but he wasn't a dumb guy. He just needed to hear that every once in a while.

They discussed more about telling Danny before Scott went in to talk to his mom as Derek drove Stiles and Scott's phone to the Stilinski residence so his dad could listen to the unedited audio. "I hate to ask," John said, after reviewing the recording, "but can you guys _stop _yourselves from healing?"

Derek answered, "not when we're unconscious, but yes. Why?"

The Sheriff looked haggard but there was a serious glint in his eyes. "Because if we edit this to avoid the fact that you're werewolves, we'd have to edit out the stabbing since Scott's already healed. But if we just clip the part where Gerard _talks _about the healing there's enough here to prove Gerard physically assaulted Scott. _That _is enough to put him away and reason to look further into him. The threats alone will only get him a warning and grounds for a restraining order."

"Which means we have to stab Scott again," Stiles concluded, frowning, "so we can have the police take pictures of the assault." He hummed in thought but then nodded sagely. "Scott'll do it. I mean, I once convinced him to jump off the shed roof, I'm sure a stabbing and delayed healing won't be too hard."

X

It was two days later after they had gotten hold of Danny and filled him in and got the audio edited and he asked about who else were werewolves how it happened and everything was explained so thoroughly Stiles felt he had gone through the grinder that Stiles found himself cornered by Derek.

"I haven't forgotten," he said. "There's something wrong with you and there's something I can do to help, but I can't do that if I don't know how."

Stiles huffed. "Seems like you're finally learning a lesson about sharing information." Derek just glared until Stiles sighed and sunk further into the couch. "Sit," he groaned, gesturing to the chair. Stiles waited until Derek was fully situated before talking. "I talked to Deaton," he confessed , "and when you turned me, because of the circumstances, it was a two way thing." Stiles took in Derek's confused eyebrows and closed his eyes, not wanting to have this conversation. "The reason it worked was as much me wanting and accepting becoming a werewolf, turning because it was _your _bite, as it was you wanting me to survive. You wanted it just as much as I had to."

Derek stayed silent, waiting for the 'but.'

"I'm getting stronger," Stiles continued. "I'm getting around easier, I can shift for short periods of time without throwing up or fainting, although it drains me like nothing, and a part of it is Peter. Part of it is that it's like he's still alive and pulling me down but I'm pushing him out more as each day passes but," and he let out a groan on the side of a growl. Stiles's eyes flicked open and caught Derek looking at him, jaw tight and eyes worried and Stiles shut his eyes again.

"I don't really remember much," Stiles said, opening his eyes and watching his ceiling fan whirl in a steady hum. It used to be silent, but not anymore. "When you bit me, I was in so much pain and so delirious, I don't remember much." He sighed, "But I have this vague recollection of you asking me to want it. Want the bite. Want _you_." He couldn't look at Derek, just kept his eyes trained onto the changing shadows from the fan. "And we could be wrong. Deaton said there were a few possibilities, but- but I wanted _you_. Derek. You begged me to want you-," Stiles could feel his voice waver and he shut his eyes to the rotating fan panels and the tears threatening his eyes. "And the thing is I've always wanted you, even when I was still afraid of you."

Stiles could hear Derek's heartbeat, which had been steadily speeding up, jumping a little erratically at certain points. He heard the way his breath caught before he said "Stiles," like a question and an answer and a plea and maybe even a prayer. Stiles caught the way his scent swirled in confusion and became tangy from its usual rich and soft flavor. He caught the overlay of heady embers.

"But the way you asked me to want you, even though you didn't know, the way you _made_ me want you, the kind of want that can save someone's life? That's- that's not… We made a connection, Derek!" he snapped, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I know you can feel when I steal energy from you. And it's helping me battle off the residual Peter, but it's making me almost just as sick because you don't- and I can't ask you to-," Stiles's voice choked off. He clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyes and refused to continue talking. He didn't have words for this.

They sat in silence for a while. No words were spoken, only the thrum of their hearts and the arrhythmic pace of their breaths and the steady hum of the ceiling fan between them. Then Derek moved, the fabric of his clothing rustling in that familiar way to indicate someone standing. Then the clicking of shoes on the fake wood floor: one, two, three- "I…" Derek's voice came out weak, unsure, afraid, his scent spiking with more of that tang and less of that ember.

The sound of a police cruiser pulling into the drive way could be heard over the stillness in the air. Before the Sheriff pulled his car into park, Derek was gone.

"Stiles?" his dad questioned having walked into the living room to see his son failing at holding back tears and staring blankly at nothing. His dad rushed over, dropping his coat onto the floor and pulling Stiles close. "What's wrong?" he whispered, cradling Stiles's head into the crook of his neck. Stiles breathed in crisp warm scent of apples and cinnamon that underplayed his dad's skin and sweat. He shook his head, nuzzling into his dad and refusing to answer.

After a few minutes, the Sheriff pulled pack and brushed away the residual tears with a comforting hand and soft fingers. "So, good news," John said tentatively, "your friend Danny came through. The recording is incriminating enough. I've got a different team working on it since Scott's your friend and I don't want to seem bias, just in case. It's a delicate situation, but they won't be going in knowing about werewolves so it'll be easier for them to see all the hard evidence."

"Good," Stiles croaked, "that's good."

There was a beat of silence between them. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

Stiles sighed and placed his head on his dad's shoulder. "I think I have to leave the pack." The Sheriff jerked back and dunked his head to make eye contact. There was a question there that didn't need voicing. John was really getting to understand the dynamics of pack, the importance of pack. As far as he knew, Derek saved Stiles when he was dying. "If I can't get over Peter without taking energy from Derek I'll never get better. Not all the way."

They sat there for a long time, Stiles and his dad gripping each other in comfort and somber understanding. Eventually, the Sheriff gave a squeeze before standing and heading to the kitchen. "If you can start dinner, I'm going to call your Aunt."

X

Scott sat in the police office with a lightly patched up knife wound that was keeping all his concentration. If he didn't pay attention it would begin to knit together again. He figured he shouldn't do that while still in the station, despite them already have taken the photos for evidence.

They had already brought Gerard in; Scott could hear the man's voice discussing the matter in one of the integration room. He had also heard a few suggestive words from Allison that left the officers looking into the case on a trail to some of his previous murders. If things went smoothly, they had him.

Of course, Scott should know by now, that things going smoothly in one area means that things are most certainly falling apart in another.

As Scott was exiting the building, finally being done processed, Isaac came racing up to him. "Something's wrong with Derek," were the first words out of his mouth. "He came back to the depot last night in a weird funk and I don't know why but there's something _wrong_. I mean…," he trailed off. Before Isaac could gather his thoughts and elaborate, Scott heard his name being called and turned to face Allison who was racing out of the building.

"Allison?"

Isaac nearly whined behind him and Scott understood why. Something was pulling at him, at both of them, the bond of pack felt wrong and twisted and it was verging on painful. It was happening so suddenly, he couldn't fathom why.

"I'm sorry," Allison said, wrapping her arms around Scott. "I'm sorry Gerard would do that to you, but my parents agree that he was out of line and has been, but after Kate and all the deaths recently, and now this and what they're likely to dig up on him, I'm sorry." She pulled him tighter placed a kiss onto his neck that sent shivers down his spine. "We're moving. Far away. We can't live with this stigma here. I'm sorry."

Scott was able ignore the uncomfortable sensation from his pack bonds as his heart shattered at losing Allison. "Hey, hey," he said, trying to comfort Allison as much as himself, "it'll be okay. You have to believe that. Okay? We'll be okay."

Suddenly the bond keeping the pack together snapped like a string pulled too taut. Both he and Isaac keeled over, struggling to keep in the surge of emotion and energy screaming at them to go primal and scream in pain and loss. The instinctively reached out for each other, hands grasping at the other's biceps and grounding themselves with pack, panting hard. Erica's howl could be heard in the distance.

"What," Scott wheezed as if he still had asthma, "was that?"

Chris walked out of the police station, gesturing for Allison to stand by him, which she did after one last kiss to Scott's cheek. "That," Mr. Argent said, "probably only affected you so strongly because you're all such a new pack. Normally a loss of a pack member doesn't feel that strong unless they've been killed."

There was a rush of confusion as both Isaac and Scott asked frenzied questions about how Chris knew or if he had killed one of their pack or why else would Chris know, before Mr. Argent finally commanded silence and explained. "I just got off the phone with the Sheriff. While he doesn't exactly like me, especially considering the circumstances of my family at the moment, he wanted to make sure his son would be protected and not likely to run into any hunters in Anaheim."


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles was pit stopping in Coalinga when he did it, because just distance wasn't enough, he knew. He had talked to Deaton about it when this possible solution first came up. He didn't know how to explain, really, the way he reached out for that bond and tore. Without moving he reached out and grabbed at something that wasn't tangible and broke the part that was _him_. It wouldn't work fully. There would always be _something_ tying him to Derek, but this was what he needed to do. He didn't expect it to feel like committing seppuku.

The phone call from Scott happened almost immediately after. "I'm sorry," Stiles answered. "I was going to explain everything after I did it because I knew you would convince me to stay." Before Scott could get a word in edgewise he explained everything. He talked about how he was taking Derek's power and it was making him sick. How he was still fighting off Peter, but he was getting better and needed to do it on his own. He couldn't be a part of the pack without stealing the power and he couldn't stay in the vicinity without reestablishing the bond. "I'm going down and finishing the year off with my Aunt. I'll come back when I'm better. I promise."

There was silence on the other end, but Stiles could hear Scott's breathing through the static. "Your Aunt who hasn't talked to you or your dad since your mom died?" he asked.

Stiles gulped. "Yeah."

There was another beat of silence. "Don't. Okay. It's not worth it. Go somewhere else."

"Scott, she never liked my dad and we haven't talked since I was ten but she's the only other family I have, the only place for me to go."

It was a some four hours later when he finally reached his destination. Stiles's aunt really wasn't a bad person, and he knew that. She still sent him a card and some cash for Christmas and birthdays, but Stiles could remember the tension in the room when she visited before his mom's death and he had found her facebook a time back and went over it. Clare wasn't the black sheep of the family, though. That was Claudia, the free spirit who used her college savings to back pack across Europe and married a man who, sure, was going to be a cop once he got out of the academy, but who didn't have enough money to support a woman trying to be a writer, living in a shoebox apartment for years after they married before they could afford a house. From what Stiles knew, the only one that understood and sided with his mother and her choices was her father, the man Stiles shares a name with, but who had passed long before Stiles was born.

Stiles's aunt Clare, however, was a mother's dream in that she had always done exactly what she was told. Now, Claudia wad gone, but still had a husband and son that loved her, while Clare was a disgruntled Disneyland station manager, and Stiles was her only blood relative alive.

"Hey," Stiles said with a weak smile when she opened her front door. "My dad called?"

Clare didn't look like Claudia, not really. You could see the family ties, but she was a heavier woman, especially since most of Stiles's memories of his mother were when she was sick. Besides, the sadness behind her eyes took away any resemblance. Claudia, even when she was dying, was jovial.

Clare jerked her head softly into the house. "Come on in, kid. We'll get you sorted."

Stiles had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. Her voice, though. Her voice was just like his mom's.

X

"You're an asshole," Lydia told him via skype chat the next afternoon. "You're an asshole and I hate you."

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and readjusted his seat on his temporary bed. "I know." He could see the tension in her face, the clench of her jaw and the way her eyes were wide and squinted at the same time. She wanted nothing better than to cry and yell, but she was composing herself because that was what Lydia Martin does.

"Allison and her parents repacked their house up and are moving to France. She's leaving _tomorrow_. Okay, so now my boyfriend broke up with me, my best friend is moving to a different _continent_, my mom is going to be out of town the entire week of my birthday, Danny isn't really talking to me out of bro solidarity or something stupid like that, and now you're gone too. That's _not _okay, Stiles. Everybody's abandoning me! And yes, I know, you all have your own things to work through and despite high school politics I know I am not actually everybody's number one priority, but god, Stiles, who do I have left?" Lydia let out a sharp breath before inhaling deeply and calming herself down.

"I'm not abandoning you, Lyds," he promised. "You can call or text me whenever you need or want, okay. And I'm coming back, I promise. As soon as I have this all under control. And you can always go to my dad or Derek."

"I know I can, Stiles," she sighed, "but you're my friend, kind of. You care about me and you understand what I'm going through best."

"Not kind of. I'm your friend."

She smiled softly on his screen and wiped away a tear at the corner of her eye. "Fine. Then I expect full updates on your recovery and I'll supply you with details as to how the pack is doing."

"Deal."

They were silent for a moment before Lydia's smile faded and she looked away from the camera. "I wish you were here."

"Sorry," he replied.

Lydia sighed. "I had another episode today. And you weren't here for me, and I hate that."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, really meaning it.

"It's fine," she said dismissively, even though it obviously wasn't. "I just thought you should know. Also, you should know if what's going on between you and Derek is what I think it is, this isn't going to get rid of it."

Stiles looked down to his hands, a blush crawling up his face at the thought of people knowing. "There's nothing going on," he muttered. "Just, like I told Scott. I'm taking energy away from Derek to fight against this freaky sickness, and it's only making me worse, so I had to break away until I'm better."

Lydia shook her head. "I know, but the reason you're taking energy from Derek will still exist when you come back."

"How do you-," he began but Lydia silenced him with a look.

"I was there the last full moon, Stiles. I was the only one not going crazy with werewolf shit at the time and I could see it. The two of you have become something to each other."

Stiles frowned and nodded. "I know. But I don't know how much of that is because of the bite and how much is actual feelings and I definatley don't know how he feels about me and I just-," he sighed, collecting his thoughts. "I can't deal with that on top of everything else. I need to get healthy. Then I'll figure out what to do about the whole, whatever, thing."

"Mates?" Lydia provided, not really a question.

"Yeah. We bonded when he bit me. I'm 85% sure."

Lydia scoffed. "I'm 98% sure, so." Stiles held back a groan. If she was that positive, it was bound to be true. Lydia was a genius after all.

X

That evening came a knock on the door. Stiles honed in his senses from the guest room his aunt gave him on the second floor and sniffed out the uncanny odor of one Scott McCall. Stiles raced down the stairs as fast as he could (which honestly wasn't very fast, even for a human), and opened the door to stare at his best friend's stupid mug.

"Dude! What are you doing here?" he asked, thoroughly confused. Scott just shrugged and asked to be let in. "Not until you tell me why the fuck you drove cross state to follow me."

Scott looked a little abashed for his actions but lord could his puppy dog eyes sway a guy. "I couldn't let you do this on your own, okay?"

Stiles gave an indignant look but shook his head and let his friend in. "My aunt's gonna freak at you," he told him. "How did you get here anyway? No way your mom let you take the car."

"Um…." Scott began. Stiles narrowed his eyes and placed a hand on his friend's chest.

"No more steps forward until you tell me what's going on."

Scott sort of deflated a little. "Your dad asked Mr. Argent to make sure it was safe for you out here from other hunters."

"HE _what!?_"

"And I talked to Derek and he thought it was a good idea if you had someone with you who knew what was going on. I'm still in Derek's pack, but this way we can watch out for you."

"Back up to the part about Christ Argent."

Scott gave a wry smile. "He drove me?" Stiles deadpanned. "He wanted to come down and make sure it _was _safe for you, as a sort of good faith gesture to your dad and the pack, before flying out to Paris where he'll meet up with Allison and her mom."

Stiles anger dropped. "You came here instead of spending the last precious hours with Allison together?"

"Yeah?"

Stiles roped Scott in for a very manly hug. "Dude, you're the best, you know that? I forget sometimes."

Scott laughed into his neck. "Nah, man. It's cool."

"It's Allison. This is a big, deal," Stiles said, pulling away. "I'm sorry you're missing her for this."

Scott sighed and plopped himself into one of the armchairs in the tiny living room. "We said our goodbyes already. We're gonna keep in touch, skype or whatever. And then, if we're still in love in two years, we're gonna go to the same college. No if ands or buts."

Stiles clasped a hand on his bro's shoulder. "That's awesome man. I'm happy for you. I'm also happy you don't have to suffer the wrath of her mother anymore."

"Ugh, I know, she was creepy!" Scott groaned.

_Maybe,_ Stiles thought as he and Scott continued to talk, _maybe everything was really going to be okay_.

He should have known better.

Scott was staying at a motel room Chris was spotting the bill for, so Clare was okay with him over during the days, but come the full moon they would need someone to hunker down. Stiles had done some scouting, since it's harder to find large abandoned buildings miles away from civilization in a big city than it is in the cluster of towns in Beacon County that are themselves fairly spread apart. There was, however, this one old children's hospital that had long since gone under which a local university had bought and used for club meetings and storage for theater props and other miscellaneous uses. It was largely untouched and never open and night and the basement was concrete and the surrounding buildings weren't residential and would most likely be empty by 10pm. So, on the night of the full moon, Stiles and Scott holed themselves up in the basement of a former hospital and it was terribly creepy, to be honest.

The night for them went by without much more than some dizziness on Stiles's part, with him and Scott reigning in the shift fairly successfully.

In the morning, though, before the sun even peaked through the one cellar window, his phone rang.

X

Lydia had planned on having a birthday party. She _always _had a birthday party and it was always the best party of the year. But with the attack at the spring semi-formal on top going into a fugue state and having hallucinations, then both Allison and Stiles leaving town, she didn't really know if she wanted a party. She didn't want to celebrate to make herself feel better. She didn't want empty wishes from near strangers who used to worship her at school but now seem wary of her. She didn't want pity. But then one night she found herself in the shell of the old Hale house. Then she realized she'd been hallucinating more than she had thought. Then she knew they weren't just hallucinations but something of Peter Hale still lived and it had clung to her consciousness.

Then she was positive she wasn't going to have the party. It was on the full moon and that wouldn't be a wise choice and none of the people she would want to come would be able to anyway. Still, she didn't tell Stiles. He was right, he needed to get better, and coming back to Beacon Hills because she was scared wouldn't help him. And Lydia didn't need anyone's help. Or, at least, she didn't think she did until she was caught up in another nightmare, not quite sure if she was really walking through the town with a pocket full of powdered wolfsbane. Not quite sure if the younger version of the corpse she had been talking to was really just in her mind as he held her wrist and dragged her down the streets, pin pricks of claws stinging her flesh. Not quite sure if she hadn't died that night on the lacrosse field.

And the being jerked awake, like a camera coming into focus. Jackson held the wrist that she was so sure Peter had been leading her by, a worried look on his face and her name still ringing in the air and on his lips. "Where am I?" she asked, panicked. Jackson wrapped his arms around her, whispering "Oh thank god," into the curls of her hair. "What's going on?" she asked, pushing him back to see, "Jackson?"

"I came to your house. I wanted to talk, but all the lights were out and Prada was barking like crazy. I found him in your backyard and your shoe prints were leading into the woods. I searched _everywhere_," he said holding tight to her again.

Lydia noticed her surroundings: the same charred room she had woke up screaming in not too long ago. Derek Hale lay unconscious on the floor.

"What did I do?" she asked, horrified as Derek began to writhe on the ground. Jackson began to talk but all she could hear was Peter's voice telling her to put their hands together. The moonlight was almost ready. Just place their hands together.

"It's okay," Jackson said, trying to sooth her.

"No, it's not!" she screamed, pushing Jackson away with the amount of strength she wanted to pull him closer with. "He's in my head, Jackson. He's in my head and will be unless I do this!" Lydia felt the tears sear across her cheeks as she pushed past Jackson. Derek looked up at her bleary eyed. Lydia heard Jackson ask what she was doing, but all Lydia could say was how sorry she was as she took Derek's limp hand against his groggy protests and placed it in the stiff curled palm of his uncle's.


End file.
